


Crawl

by icedcafelatte



Series: Rhyss [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beating, Broken Bones, Bruises, Caretaking, Crying, Exhaustion, Hatred, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Rescue, Whump, Winged Character, crawling, injuries, wing whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 19:31:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedcafelatte/pseuds/icedcafelatte
Summary: “Crawl,” the man snaps.Rhyss doesn't move. He lies there trying to catch his breath, so overwhelmed with pain that he doesn't even register the words.





	Crawl

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the tumblr prompt "dragging themself across the ground", featuring my original character Rhyss

They took him out into the woods and beat him like a fucking pinata. Tethered him to the ground by the ankle with just enough leeway that he could fly a little, but not far. They circled him with wooden rods in hand, laughing when their swings met skin and Rhyss cried out and tried to get away, only to be hit with another brutal  _ thwack! _ from another side.

 

They didn't hold back, and everywhere was fair game. Soon his body was throbbing all over, one cheek was swollen, tears slipped down his cheeks and stung his cut lip. A particularly harsh blow to the base of one of his wings hurt terribly, and trying to stay up was getting harder and harder.

 

When he finally couldn't take anymore he tried to land in the center, out of reach.

 

And then a brutally hard swing met his right leg. A sharp  _ crack, _ a scream of pain that echoed through the trees, and he crumpled to the ground, clutching his leg, his hyperventilating laced with pained whimpers.

 

One of the men stood over him, raised a bat right over Rhyss's head. Rhyss squeezed his eyes shut, praying it would be quick and painless. A sob escaped his throat when he thought of how he'd never seen his home or friends or family again.

 

The bat swung down, Rhyss cried out, and then…

 

It stopped, barely two inches from his head. The men stepped back, laughing.

 

“Stupid thing fell for it!”

 

“Hey, can I break the other leg?”

 

“Alright, you boys have had your fun,” the man interrupts. They all go silent.

 

Rhyss rolls over so he's sprawled forward on the ground, muffling his soft pants by burying his face in his arms, battered body trembling. His wings droop across the cold, damp ground. It rained last night. He remembers being curled up safely at Maria's house listening to it patter on the roof.

 

The man moves to stand looming over Rhyss. He has no weapon and he doesn't need one. A well placed press to just about anywhere on his body right now would do enough.

 

He does just that, roughly prodding a growing bruise on Rhyss's hip, making him squirm away with a choked gasp.

 

The foot moves away.

 

“ _ Crawl, _ ” the man snaps.

 

Rhyss doesn't move. He lies there trying to catch his breath, so overwhelmed with pain that he doesn't even register the words.

 

“Can't you hear, you  _ freak _ ?” He delivers a sharp kick to Rhys's side, earning a broken cry.

 

Rhyss manages to prop himself up on his forearms and turns his head just enough to peer up at the man, eyes wide and cheeks damp with tears. The man sneers.

 

“Do you know what I hate most about your kind?” he says. “Because you have  _ these _ \- “ he presses his shoe to the swollen base of Rhyss's left wing. Rhyss gasps, back arching to try to escape the pain but only serving to press his bruised stomach and ribs against the ground, making him shudder and slump forward again.

 

The man continues pressing and Rhyss is helpless to do anything but clench his fists and ride out the fresh wave of pain.

 

“- you think you're  _ better _ than us. But you know as well as I do that you bleed and break just like any human. You're so used to soaring in the air. Now I want to see you  _ crawl in the dirt _ like the scum that you are.”

 

His foot moves away again and again Rhyss tries, shakily, to prop himself up on his forearms. He only barely manages it.

 

“That's the only way you're getting home,” the man adds. “I doubt you can walk on that leg. And if you try to fly, my men will shoot your wings to shreds. Understand?”

 

Rhyss nods automatically. His bottom lip quivers. It's taking all of what little willpower he has left to keep from breaking down in front of them.

 

“Go on then,” the man says, stepping back.

 

Rhyss takes a few steadying breaths and tries to push himself up onto his hands and knees.

 

The moment he puts even a little pressure on his broken leg it  _ rages _ with pain and he shouts as it buckles, leaving him sprawled forward once more.

 

The men just... _ laugh. _

 

Rhyss bites back a sob. It's quickly become clear that even crawling isn't an option. Which leaves only one thing.

 

Slowly, carefully, he slides his arms forward, moves his good leg up a bit, and pulls himself forward a few inches, dragging his sharply throbbing broken leg behind him. He braces himself and then does it again. And then again. He makes it a couple of feet before the pain he feels all over forces him to stop to breathe.

 

No one stops him. No one touches him. No one speaks.

 

Their eyes on him hurt as much as his bruises, and his face burns with shame. Once he would have flown circles around anyone who dared him. Now he's reduced to a shaking, aching mess, dragging himself along the ground while these people just  _ watch _ .

 

He makes it a couple more feet when the man says, “it's getting late. Let's go.”

 

For one brief moment Rhyss hopes that means him too. Maybe they'll toss him in the back of the van and it'll  _ hurt _ the whole drive back but at least he'll be dumped on Maria's doorstep to be cared for.

 

Instead their footsteps move away from him, leaving him there. He only barely holds himself back from crying out  _ “wait!” _

 

In the distance behind him car doors slam and engines rev and then they're gone.

 

A chill washes over the foggy, damp forest, and Rhyss shivers. It's almost a relief to not have them here watching him suffer. It's just him and some birds chirping high up in the trees.

 

With a resigned sigh he begins the painful, slow process of dragging himself forward, inch by inch.

 

His shivers increase as he moves over the wet ground, the cold seeming to seep into his very bones. Every movement makes pain ripple through his body and he groans, soft and weak.

 

The ground is covered in dirt and moss and rotting leaves, adding feeling filthy to his current pile of misery. There are roots, too, and at one point he settles himself down to rest only to cry out and clutch at his side when a root presses into the bruising there.

 

When the pain eases back down to a dull pulsing he carefully lowers himself to a softer spot on the ground and lies there panting.

 

His wings are heavy and cold at his back and for a moment he hates them. They weigh him down, they tremble, they  _ hurt _ .

 

They're the reason men like that want to hurt him.

 

*

 

Rhyss keeps going. He doesn't know for how long, only that it feels like an eternity. His arms and good leg grow sore from exertion. His broken leg has numbed to a dull ache; he tries, just once more, to put pressure on it, only to have it tremble and give out on him.

 

His head pounds, he's so cold, so  _ tired… _

 

Rhyss stares blankly ahead at the treeline that he's almost made it to. On the other side are yards, homes. One of them is Maria's.

 

He feels the dirt and dew and tears on his face, his weak, trembling limbs, his twitching broken leg, his drooping wings, the dried blood on his cut lip, and he wonders if something like him even  _ deserves _ to be rescued from this...

 

He shakes his head sharply and then winces at the pull on his sore face.  _ Stop that. Just...a little further to go. _

 

Rhyss pulls himself forward again, little by little. The pain and the cold and the fear claw at his heart. He wants to scream, to break down, to give up. But he's  _ almost there… _

 

He drags himself out from the woods onto soft, mowed grass. With a groan he settles down onto it and breathes deeply, soothed by the feel of it on his skin. He glances up weakly to see that he's only a few houses down from Maria's.

 

No longer caring if he's caught, by that man or anyone else, Rhyss flaps his sore, half-numb wings until they lift him partway off the ground. It's all he can manage. His feet drag through the grass, his whole body slumped as he drifts the last few yards. It takes a small burst of effort to clear the fence, and then he drops heavily into the safety of the familiar yard.

 

He lies there catching his breath, wishing he had the strength to crawl the last few feet to the house. But he's completely spent. There's nothing left in him.

 

It's then that he hears voices from inside the house. Arguing.

 

“I told you we shouldn't have let him go by himself!”

 

“He wanted to! He may be young but he's an  _ adult _ , Maria, he can go to the store himself if he wants to - “

 

“It isn't safe! He's been gone for four hours, Cole!”

 

Their voices are emotional, strained, frustrated.

 

Rhyss wishes he stayed in the woods and let himself rot with the dead leaves.

 

All he's done since the moment they found him was cause trouble and now - 

 

He curls up on his less-hurt side and buries his face in his dirty hands and  _ sobs. _

 

“We’re wasting time, we have to go find - “

 

“ _ Shh! _ ”

 

“Did you just  _ shh  _ me? I swear - “

 

“I'm serious! Listen. Do you hear that?”

 

The back door opens and closes and there are a pair of matching gasps.

 

“Rhyss!”

 

“Oh, god, his leg…”

 

He curls up tighter as they kneel on either side of him.

 

A pair of gentle hands guide his hands away from his face. He peers up at them, eyes puffy and bloodshot, streaks of fresh tears cutting rivers through the dirt on his face.

 

Maria and Cole look back, sad and horrified. Cole carefully lifts Rhyss’s head to rest in his lap; Maria runs a hand over his hair to calm him.

 

“It was him,” she asks, “wasn't it?”

 

Rhyss nods wearily.

 

“You're safe now,” Cole tells him, voice calm and deep. He puts a warm hand on Rhyss's back, feels the chilled, damp skin. Maria's checks him over with gentle hands and worried eyes.

 

“We were so worried about you,” she says, stroking his tangled hair back from his face and wiping away fresh tears with her thumbs.

 

Cole rubs circles on his back, careful of bruises and his injured wing. “Yeah, we were,” he agrees.

 

Rhyss can't answer. His throat feels raw, his chest tight.  _ They were worried. They care... _

 

Maria and Cole demand nothing. They continue touching him gently and saying things like,

 

“I bet a warm bath would feel nice…”

 

“Some ice for your wing…”

 

“I'll get my medic friend over here, she can fix up that leg…”

 

“We can order takeout, whatever you want…”

 

Rhyss closes his eyes and lets Cole lift him; Maria holds his wings off the ground.

 

After hours feeling so heavy as he dragged himself inch by inch, now he is weightless, held up by people who care for him. They carry him inside to safety.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://thoughtsonhurtandcomfort.tumblr.com)


End file.
